


The Rare Gift

by triedunture



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelic Soulbond, Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Rimming, Wet & Messy, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 13:03:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triedunture/pseuds/triedunture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The prompt was "Dean receives an . . . unusual . . . Christmas gift from Castiel." The gift turns out to be wings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rare Gift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cassiopeia7](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=cassiopeia7).



Dean wakes up in a place he's not supposed to be: in the backseat of the Impala, his breath misting in the December air. It's dark, only weak starlight slanting through the car windows. It's not supposed to be nighttime either; Dean blinks up at the headliner, trying to remember. He'd been doing something important, chasing something. And there had been fear and pain, he's sure of it. Where had all that gone?

He sits up, grunting not from actual discomfort but from frustration. He should be cold, he should be hurt. But Dean looks down at himself, touches his chest, stretches his legs across the backseat. His clothes are all intact: leather jacket, flannel shirt, jeans. He feels fine. Good, even.

"You're awake," a gravelly voice rumbles from the front of the car, and Dean jumps an inch in the air, his heart pounding madly.

"Christ, Cas! Don't sneak up on a guy like that."

Castiel peers over the headrest of the passenger seat, his eyes bright blue in the dim interior.

"I didn't intend to," Cas says. There's something off in his drawn face, a tiredness in his eyes that shouldn't be there.

"What happened?" Dean asks. "You look like roadkill."

An affronted glare, almost bordering on hurt. "You were injured. You prayed for me."

"I don't remember." Dean tries to recall what he can. He'd been tracking a chimera with Sam; they'd split up, he remembers that much. Then nothing. Dean peers out the window and sees nothing but a long stretch of waist-high grass. They're parked on the shoulder of a deserted country road, not a street light or sign in sight. "How long was I out?"

Castiel narrows his eyes in thought. Time works so differently for him, Dean realizes. (The thought seems to come from nowhere. Dean isn't sure how he knows this.)

"I believe it's been a little over twenty-four hours."

"Really?" Dean frowns, leaning between the front seats to be eye-to-eye with Cas. "That makes today Christmas."

"Yes, I suppose so." Cas faces forward again in the front seat, his hand stealing along his left flank as if searching out some hidden pain. "I—" Cas huffs, a clear sign he's frustrated with himself. His breath hangs in the chilled air between them. "I did not reach you in time."

"What are you talking about?" Dean spreads his arms out to either side. "I'm the picture of health. You fixed me up good."

Castiel does not confirm this. He groans lowly at the back of his throat, doubling over, clutching his arms around his torso. "Whoa, whoa," Dean says, anchoring him with a hand on his shoulder. "Cas, what did you do?"

"Dean." Cas falls silent, his face pinched in discomfort. "Please do not be angry."

"Why would I be—?" And then there's a bright light slicing its way through Dean's brain, tearing its way through his body and his soul; he can feel it crashing through him, bending and twisting to fit inside him. He clutches his aching forehead with one hand, the other braced against Cas's shoulder. His mouth gapes open for air but he can't breathe.

He doesn't breathe, and he doesn't need to.

The light fades, dulling to a constant hum in the back of his head. Dean blinks his eyes open and looks around the dark interior of the car, seeing it with new eyes. There are colors in the shadows; he can see the Impala as it had been when it was mint, how it looks today, and how it will look in ten years. He can see everything at once, all through time.

And spreading through the interior, Dean can see a silvery, shaking light unfolding, filling the empty spaces of the car, and he knows somehow that this new light is coming from him.

"Holy shit," he whispers.

"I wish you wouldn't use that phrase," Cas murmurs.

Dean reaches out and touches the light, his fingers tingling against the edges of the silver. He can _feel_ it from both sides. He concentrates on the unfurling light and something twinges in his back, between his shoulder blades. The light flaps once: down, up. The air in the car whooshes at the motion.

"You—" The words stick in Dean's throat. "You gave me _wings_?"

Cas looks up at him, his eyes heavy and hooded. "I had no choice. You were beyond my usual healing power. I," he hesitates, "inserted a portion of my grace into you. It will knit you back together."

"What do you mean, inserted?" Dean balks.

Cas makes a vague gesture with both hands. "I placed it within your soul. It was leaving your body, there was no time to do anything else."

"So I'm an angel now!?"

"Only slightly. And only temporarily. I can remove the grace once you are healed. The remainder of the night should be a sufficient amount of time."

Dean squeezes his eyes shut, trying to get a handle on this information. When he opens his eyes, he sees Cas in much the same way as the Impala: he can see the vessel Cas wears, and also the shimmering being of celestial light beneath. Castiel's own wings fill the space inside the car as well, tangling with Dean's, the lights crackling against each other in bursts of gold and green. Dean watches it and thinks of summer sparklers and Christmas lights.

"This is weird," Dean finally says.

"Yes. Well." Castiel shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "It is a very rare event. Try not to dwell on it; human minds are not designed to process the myriad senses of the angels."

"So you ripped out a piece of yourself to stick it in me, huh?" Dean peers closer, seeing not just Jimmy Novak's exhausted face, but something dimming and drained in Castiel's true being. "Is that why you look like something the cat dragged in?"

Cas squints up at him. "There was no cat. It was a chimera, I believe."

Dean huffs a laugh into the air, a puff of frost hanging between them. "What I'm trying to say is, how bad are you hurt, Cas?"

"Oh." Castiel blinks in thought. "I will remain weakened until my grace can be made whole. It is not a pleasant sensation," he adds, "but I will live."

Looking at Cas's true form is like looking into the heart of a star. Dean doesn't really understand what he's seeing, but he knows instinctively that the lights winking in and out of focus at the very depths of Castiel's being are a sign that he is in pain. Dean's wings twitch forward, brushing against Cas's body, his pale face, an offer of comfort that Dean hadn't even been aware of making before it was already made.

Cas goes stock-still in the passenger seat, looking up at Dean with wide eyes. "Don't—" His voice is strangled.

"Sorry, I just—" But before Dean can explain that these new wings seem to have a mind of their own, Cas is outside the car, moving between eyeblinks, one moment there, the next not. Dean had always thought of this angelic speed as teleportation, but with his angelic sight, he now sees it differently: Cas moving through the atoms of the car door and the din of time as easily as Dean walks through a doorway.

It takes a moment to understand, and then Dean finds himself outside the car too, having moved angel-quick. He stands beside Cas in the dew-covered grass, bathed in starlight, their wings stretching impossibly wide in the night air. Cas falters, swaying on his feet, and Dean grabs him by the arm to keep him upright.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, flying around in the state you're in?" Dean means to inject more heat into his words, but they come out quiet and concerned. "You need to be resting, Cas."

"N-no." Castiel shakes his head. "I should go. I can return once you are well. I—"

"Dude, you saved my life. Again. I think you've earned a little nap." Dean steps closer, the tips of his wings arcing over their heads, brushing with a kind of innate tenderness against Cas's wings once more.

Castiel hisses between his clenched teeth, his eyes shut tight. "You do not understand," he says lowly, "what you are doing to me."

Dean's face scrunches in confusion. His wings retreat, folding behind his back. "What am I doing?"

"Your wings," Cas grates out. "Angels do not touch each other with them, except in...certain circumstances."

"What circumstances? How come?" Unbidden, Dean's left wingtip stretches out and touches Castiel's cheek, almost a caress. "It feels—" There's no human word for it. Dean tries one, but it's not enough. "—natural."

"It is how we initiate Communion," Cas says, his eyes focused on the ground. "It is a very _private_ act."

"Wait. Wait." Dean holds up a hand, a single finger raised questioningly. "Are we talking angel sex?"

Castiel bristles at that, his wings flaring out to the sides. "Angels do not have gender, Dean, nor do they possess a sexuality akin to humans'."

"Okay, sure, fine, got it." Dean raises both hands defensively. "So what's Communion then?"

"It is an intimate act of fellowship between or among angels. It's difficult to explain in human terms, but they share their grace for a brief time."

"'They?'" Dean asks, raising an eyebrow.

Cas flushes and ducks his head. "I have told you before, I remain virginal in all ways."

"Wha—? Why?" Dean's right wing creeps forward to touch Cas's flank, but Cas brushes it away with an impatient hand. He looks up at Dean, his gaze steely blue.

"No one would have me," he says.

Dean looks at Castiel, really looks at him, the swirling starlight and heavenly strength that makes up his true form, and something twists in his chest. "I find that very hard to believe," Dean whispers, his gaze falling to Cas's parted lips. His wings reach out and wrap loosely around Cas, enfolding but not touching, quivering in the winter air.

Cas eyes them with dread. "Dean. Please."

He can't explain why he doesn't back off when asked; Dean only knows he feels lighter and more in control than he ever has. He sees things he's never seen and understands things he's never thought about. The air smells more like air. The ground feels infinitely more like the ground. And maybe it's the whole angelic sight thing messing with his head, but when he looks at Cas now he doesn't see just a weird guy in a dirty trench coat. He sees a being that fights for him and will take care of him with no thought of self-preservation. He sees Castiel, inside Castiel, and he finally, finally understands.

"You're in love with me," Dean says softly. "Oh my god. You really are." His wings shiver in the wind.

The light at Cas's center dims, brought low by shame. He doesn't deny it, can't even try, but he doesn't meet Dean's eyes either. "I have fought it with every ounce of strength I possess," he murmurs. "I know nothing can come of it. Nothing good, at any rate."

"Cas." Dean steps closer, his wings slowly drawing Castiel to him, embracing him gently. Cas's eyes widen in fright, but he doesn't fight Dean's touch. Dean takes this as a good sign. "Maybe something can. Something really good."

Castiel's wings curl against his own back, shrinking himself smaller even as Dean holds him tighter. "You are not yourself. You are drunk on angelic grace, you don't know what you're doing."

"I know what I'm doing. For once." Dean rests his hands on Castiel's hips, so narrow and human, and leans in to breathe in his scent (gardens and rivers). "I'm only going to be like this for one night, right? So." He looks down into Cas's expectant face, gazing at that familiar mouth. "Commune with me, Cas."

Cas looks up at Dean, human eyes blue, angel eyes filled with galaxies. "One night," he repeats quietly, shaking his head. "That is more than I ever hoped for. But I need to know, so my hopes do not exceed my reach: what will happen tomorrow, when you are human again?"

The individual feathers of Dean's wings stroke down Cas's face, his arms, his sides. Tomorrow is so far away. "Trust me," Dean says. "I'll still be here tomorrow."

Cas shudders, a real full-body shudder, and turns his face into the warm light of Dean's wings. He stands there, in Dean's arms and wings, and says shakily, "I admit I am overwhelmed." His own wings, broad and glowing softly, reach out and cocoon Dean as well. "Thank you. Thank you, Dean." They jolt against Dean's skin, a riot of anticipation flitting along his nerves.

"I should be thanking you," Dean murmurs against Cas's temple. "Kept me safe. Kept me alive. Never expected a goddamn thing in return."

Cas looks up at him then, his eyes deep with sadness. Dean recognizes the question there without being told.

"Hey, this isn't a pity-fuck. Um, pity-communion. Whatever. It's not that." His wings tighten around them. "I want it. Wanted it for a long time." He licks his lips, a nervous gesture. "Uh, do angels kiss each other?"

"They do not usually commune while in vessels, so no," Cas says. His eyes fall to Dean's mouth. "But I would not be adverse to it."

"Good." Dean leans in and kisses Cas like he's always wanted to, just a brush of their lips at first, and then more, their mouths melding together. Dean runs his tongue along the seam of Cas's lips, and Cas gasps in surprise long enough for Dean to lick into his mouth. He cradles Cas's jaw in one hand and feels feathers of light coiling around him.

They part not for breath, but to speak. "What happens now?" Dean asks. "What do I do?"

"It's already begun," Cas whispers, his eyes closed in rapture. "Do you feel it? Within you?"

Dean looks inside himself and finds that spark of heat, which had begun as a reaction to Castiel's kiss. It's growing, throbbing, a living light that spreads between them, encompassing them like the summer sun.

Just like that, Dean knows Cas, knows every inch of him, every moment of his eons-old existence. He feels the pain Cas felt when Lucifer and his angels fell from heaven, the songs he sung when the stars were formed in the sky, the joy he experienced as he received his insignia, one of the seven days created by the Father himself.

And he understands the tormenting confusion Cas lives with, knowing he's somehow different from the other angels, set apart, a stranger among his brothers. He is a perfectly average angel in terms of power and might, and yet always has there been this thought unspoken by the rest of the Host: that Castiel does not belong. This, more than anything, Dean understands.

"Cas," he says softly, and Cas shushes him, kissing his closed eyelids.

Dean feels himself being given over as well: all the pieces of him, the guilt, the vanity, the unerring need to fight the monsters that walk the earth, his love for Sam, his hatred of his own failings. There are parts Dean himself has forgotten about or tried to forget, dark things, things that can't be explained or named. He grabs for them, tries to keep them hidden inside, but they slip through his fingers like mist. Castiel's voice is in his head, and he's saying, "Do not be afraid. They are parts of you. I love them all."

It goes on for what seems like forever. It is frightening and wonderful, being given and giving all these secrets. When it ends, a feeling of pervading peace overtakes Dean, the sensation that Castiel is in him and around him and will not leave him, not for anything in the universe. He is held close and warm, kept in the palm of some great hand, and he tries with all his might to return the sentiment, though it feels so big and he feels so small compared to it.

"I love all of you, too," he says into the contented darkness.

A wave of joyous relief washes over him, sent directly from Cas's heart. "Adored," Castiel calls him, "my adored."

Dean wants to stay in this nowhere place, alone with Castiel, but something is tugging him back to the world, back to his body. It can't last forever, he understands, or else nothing would ever get done in heaven. He opens his eyes to find himself sprawled on the damp ground, his arms still clasping Cas to his chest. He touches his own cheek, feeling the wetness there. He wonders when he started crying.

Their wings pulse with light and recede, fading until they leave nothing but a shadow in Dean's vision, then even that disappears. Cas stirs against him, humming into Dean's leather jacket.

"Was that pleasant for you?" Cas asks in a drowsy voice.

Dean barks a laugh into the freezing air. "More like fucking amazing. You sure you'd never done that before?"

Cas shakes his head underneath Dean's chin. "Never. I hope I did well, though I fear I bordered on blasphemy at one point."

"Really?" Dean draws his fingertips up and down Cas's arm, rustling the fabric of his trench. "When?"

"I named you 'adored,'" Cas says. "Angels should not say such things, even in the heat of Communion."

"To a human, you mean?"

"To anyone but the Lord." Cas colors, his cheeks pinking in the cold wind. "I apologize, the connotation must seem strange to you."

"You saying I'm your personal god?" Dean smiles up at the stars.

Cas is silent for a moment. Then he says, "Sometimes I find myself placing more faith in you than the Father I've never seen. I must remember you are only human. I believe in you, Dean, but I do not wish to burden you with—" He searches for the right words.

"Your daddy issues?" Dean supplies helpfully.

Castiel nods, his small smile growing against Dean's shoulder. They lay there for a time, content to be near each other as the sun crests over the ridge of the field. It's only when Cas gasps in pain and clutches his ribs that Dean remembers the trouble that started them on this path in the first place.

"Your grace," he says, holding him upright. "Can you take it back now?"

Cas examines Dean, and Dean feels that otherworldly gaze inside him. "You have healed. I believe it is safe to remove it." He splays a hand on Dean's stomach. "I will miss seeing you with wings," he says wistfully.

Dean presses a kiss to his lips. "Go ahead, you need it more than me."

Cas nods and concentrates, his eyes sliding shut. Dean feels something hot and powerful knifing through him again, that white light blinding his vision. He opens his eyes, and although he's glad to see he no longer has double-angelic-vision, he feels bereft in a way he can't explain. He feels alone, like Cas isn't with him even though he's sitting right there in front of Dean. But now Cas is fully angelic again, and he seems so achingly untouchable.

He pushes the feeling away. "Doing all right?" he asks Cas instead.

Castiel nods, standing tall and offering Dean a hand. "I am well." Dean gets to his feet with Cas's help and they stand there in the watery morning light, staring at each other. Cas opens his mouth to speak. "Perhaps it is selfish of me, but I wish I could Commune with you again someday. It was so very wonderful, Dean."

Dean licks his lips and glances over his shoulder at the Impala, which is sitting where they left her on the side of the road. "Well, I know it isn't celestial bonding or whatever, but maybe we can figure something out."

"What do you mean?" Cas cocks his head to the side, curiosity etched on his face.

Dean smirks, taking Cas's hand in his and slowly walking backward to the car. "I mean there's a backseat here with your name on it, if you want."

Cas straightens and stops. "You are referring to sexual intercourse?" he asks. "With my vessel?"

"I don't see any other angels in vessels around here, do you?"

There's a long pause where Cas doesn't move, then finally says, "I do not claim to know all the intricacies of human Communion, but it is my understanding that you prefer females. I am unable to procure a female vessel at this time, and—"

"Cas." Dean holds his hand tighter. "Think about it. You know me. You _know_ me." His eyes entreat Cas to face what he must already know: that Dean doesn't care about something like that when it comes to Cas, not anymore, not after what they'd just shared. "Every part of you," Dean says quietly, "I love it."

Cas unbends then, his fingers curling around Dean's. He takes a step forward.

"That's it," Dean says with a small smile. "Come on." He opens the car door without even looking behind him. He ducks into the backseat, pulling Cas on top of him. Cas snaps his fingers and the door slams shut behind them.

It seems odd to Dean that he hasn't seen Cas naked yet; he knows Cas inside and out, but he doesn't know what he looks like without pants. He thinks Cas might be shy about it, but it's the exact opposite: Cas is already stripping off his coat and tie, dropping them to the floorboards.

At Dean's surprised raised-eyebrow look, Cas says, "You've already seen my deepest love and darkest fears. This is only a body I happen to inhabit. I do not mind showing it to you, if you want to see it." He unbuckles his belt and slithers out of his slacks.

"Hey, not complaining," Dean says, shrugging out of his leather jacket and unbuttoning his flannel, his eyes still glued to Cas.

Castiel's borrowed body is pale, thinner than Dean realized now that it's not hidden by clothes. There's a light dusting of dark hair on his chest and trailing down from his navel. He's deceptively fragile-looking, but Dean knows the amazingly powerful creature just beneath that white skin.

Dean toes off his boots, shoves his jeans down his hips, kicks them off his feet. He pulls Cas down on top of him, bare skin on bare skin. Castiel gasps in shock, his hands framing Dean's grinning face.

"It's not Communion, I know, but—" Dean starts.

Cas kisses him, nipping at his lips and the point of his chin. "No, it's not," he agrees. "But it's very enjoyable. Very human." He grinds his hips down into Dean experimentally, and they both groan at the sensation. "Oh, I like that," Cas says.

Dean's been hard since they got in the car, and now he feels Cas's body responding in turn. He chuckles, low in his throat, and kisses Cas's neck. "There's more, you know."

"There is?" Castiel looks bewildered. "Will you show me?"

Dean sits up on his knees. "Yeah, turn around for a second." Cas looks slightly nervous at the thought of losing sight of Dean, his eyes still searching for him over his shoulder. "Trust me, come on." Dean places a gentle kiss on Cas's shoulder and guides him downward with a hand on the back of his neck. Cas goes on his elbows and knees, facing away from Dean.

"Like this?" he asks.

Dean runs a hand down his spine, from his neck all the way down to the cleft of his ass. "Just like that." He strokes a thumb further downward, watching Cas closely. His thighs shake, and his head drops, his forehead pressed against the seat. "Feel good?"

"Yes," Cas says, voice strangled. "Yes, touch me."

"Oh, I'll do more than that," Dean says with a smirk. He spreads Cas's cheeks apart and licks his lips at the sight of Cas's hole. It occurs to him Cas has no earthly idea what's about to happen, but he hasn't questioned Dean at all. He feels a swell of pride at that. "Gonna make you feel so good," he promises, rubbing the pad of his thumb over that tiny hole.

Cas's arms give out, and he raises his ass even higher in the air, a clear offering. "Please," he whispers.

Dean leans down, very conscious of his hard dick leaking between his legs, and swipes the flat of his tongue over Cas's ass. He's done this before with women (they always go crazy for the taboo-sounding stuff) but this isn't like those times. For one thing, Cas doesn't taste like a woman—doesn't taste like anything, really. Nothing human, no sweat or salt. Just the lingering taste of something clean and new, like rainwater.

For another thing, no woman Dean's been with has ever cursed in Enochian. " _Vau pa ahe_!" Cas shouts, his back bowing like a U.

Dean startles back, his hands still on Cas's hips. "Whoa! You okay?"

"More," Castiel growls. " _Od nor mo lapi_ , more of your mouth." He reaches back and spreads his cheeks apart for Dean, opening his legs as far as they can go on the narrow backseat.

"Don't gotta tell me twice," Dean chuckles, diving back in. Saliva drips down Cas's balls, pattering on the upholstery. Dean's tongue laps over his hole again and again, then plunges in, undulating like a snake. Castiel cries out, and Dean sneaks a hand between his legs to squeeze at Cas's tight balls and stroke his thick cock, dripping with precome, slick with spit.

"Fuck," Dean mutters to the inside of Cas's thigh. "You're so wet." He applies himself to Cas's hole again, licking at it with abandon. Castiel's arms shake, but he continues to hold himself open. Dean murmurs approval and keeps jacking Cas's cock, his own neglected hard-on bobbing between his legs.

"I want to please you too," Cas keens into the leather of the backseat. "Tell me what to do, Dean."

Dean places a kiss on the small of his back, shushing along his skin. "It's all right, Cas, it's fine," he says. He traces his hole one last time with the tip of his tongue. "Just come."

And Cas does, as if it's an order he can't ignore. His body shakes and his cock jerks in Dean's fist, spurting thick come all over the backseat. Dean watches as Cas falls forward on his stomach, his limbs still quivering with the force of his orgasm. Dean strokes his own cock at last, needing only a moment to replay the noises Cas made, before he's coming all over the backs of Cas's legs and ass. Then he sprawls across Cas's back and tries to catch his breath, not minding the cooling come; Cas can mojo them clean with a snap later.

Castiel speaks first, lifting his head to peer over his shoulder at Dean. "Can we do that again?"

"What, now?" Dean laughs. "Give a guy a minute to recover, Cas."

"No, some other time. Soon. Can we?"

"Yeah, 'course." Dean brackets Cas with his arms and legs, a tight squeeze on the backseat, but they manage. "Maybe next time we can get to the _really_ good stuff."

Cas picks up his head and stares back at Dean with wide eyes. "That wasn't the good stuff?"

"Oh no, that was very good. But wait until I'm inside you." Dean mimics what he means with a roll of his hips.

"Dean, you are already inside me," Cas says, unblinking. When Dean doesn't answer, just gapes, he amends, "Oh, you mean literally with your erection. I was referring to the fact that you have a place in my heart. I'm sure your way is good, too."

Dean tips his head back and laughs until his sides ache. Cas even joins in with a low chuckle. Weak winter sunlight filters through the windows, falling across the backseat.

"Guess we should get dressed, go find Sam," Dean murmurs, kissing Cas's shoulder blade. "Can't let him spend Christmas alone."

"Ah, yes. Christmas Day. I sometimes forget the importance placed on this rather arbitrary conifer-worshipping celebration," Cas muses.

Dean huffs against Cas's neck. "Mmmm, you got me wings for Christmas and I didn't get you anything. I'm terrible at this conifer thing."

"Oh, Dean." Castiel twists onto his back to face Dean and kisses him, long and slow. "Don't you know what you've given me?"

Dean smiles down at him, fondness mixed with temptation. "Hey." He kisses Cas again. "I love you, you know that?"

Castiel smiles. "I do."


End file.
